


The Devil Who Could Heal

by Zaikyo



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Pre-Slash, Rating: PG13
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-07
Updated: 2012-06-07
Packaged: 2017-11-07 03:27:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/426429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zaikyo/pseuds/Zaikyo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam has just about spent all he has. Lucifer knows it, and he aims to get it back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Devil Who Could Heal

There was another one. Another rattling, bone to bone blow at Sam's expense. Another stray molar he knew he would never get back. More and more pain receptors heating up and shutting down into numbing slumber.  
  
  
For good.  
  
  
And it was settling, knowing that he couldn't win this one, knowing that all of this work; fighting demons, fighting the angels, fighting whatever sadistic, manic, jack in the box shit that came their way, it had all been for nothing. And that was just so damn okay with Sam.  
  
  
Because now, there wasn't any need to fight anymore. There wasn't any obligation to have to care, when somewhere deep down Sam knew he had never really wanted to in the first place. There wasn't any reason to have to break and bend and bleed, only to patch up the wounds and go out again to make newer, fresher, deeper ones. There wasn't any reason to be tired any longer.  
  
  
And God.... he was just so tired.  
  
  
There was a pause, just long enough for Sam to take in the lingering sensations of aching nausea and then another deep jab to his side. He felt himself gave in to his weakened stance, meeting the asphalt with an impact that just seemed too jarring to be real. Somehow it just hurt too much.  
  
  
How could something hurt this much?  
  
  
And okay yeah, Sam never really expected the hunters to come back. After all, he'd somehow managed to gain the upper hand in a two on one, hostage ambush the first time around, with demon blood playing an its-o-zip-o factor in his victory. He imagined that would've giving them plenty enough reason to stay a good far-fucking distance away.  
  
  
But then again,  
  
  
What would be the point in running away from the savory temptation of vengeance, when the world was ending anyway? There wouldn't be anything left to lose. No reasons to play it safe, or smart for that matter.  
  
  
And Sam knew, Jesus he knew, given that the circumstances were reversed, he would do the same. He didn't blame anyone for anything that had resulted from his actions. And even if he did, those feelings would have slipped away with the streams of red that continued to fall away from him, a long time ago.  
  
  
They were cursing him now, cursing his father, cursing Dean. Maybe those offenses towards the ones he loved were the reasons he even attempted to defend himself in the first place. Because let's face it, Sam's wanted to throw in the towel for quite some time now. He certainly wasn't fighting for himself.

Well, now he wasn't fighting much at all. Just waiting. Waiting for it to end.  
God, how many were there again? Six? With his consciousness fading between blows, everything and everyone just sort of ran together in one big wash of pain.

  
And numbness.

  
And guilt.

  
And why the fuck was he even here? It hadn't even dawned on Sam until now that his entireexistence had just been one massive screw up after another. Was he really born for this? To kick start the worlds biggest clusterfuck of a mess and then just... leave?

He was basically... a plague.

Sam almost smirked at the thought. That is, he would have if it had not been for the size eleven boot that slammed securely into his face.

  
Two more teeth. And he swore he saw red.

  
So this was it. He knew it by the way the feeling in his arms and legs suddenly vanished, only to be replaced by a weird kind of numbness. It didn't hurt, but it didn't feel right either.  
His vision was blurring too, probably from the bursting blood vessels around his eyes, he guessed. And the shouts and curses around him were beginning to mesh together incoherently.  
This was it.  
  
He said his goodbyes. With what little straight thinking he had left in him, Sam sent off his thank you's and apologizes by a sort of symbolic telepathy. He could only pray that those he loved, however few that was, would find his last thoughts somewhere in their hearts somehow, when and if they ever looked for him again. But he imagined that those very thoughts were just as well lost to that big vacuum of space where all the world's mental whispers went when they left their birthing place.

  
No, today, he was alone.  
  
Sam braced for it. That last go at him. The one that would shove him straight into a new existence and rip him from the worn suit of skin he'd been wearing for much too long now. He waited for it for what seemed like the longest couple seconds to ever pass.  
  
But it just didn't come.  
  
And Sam knew it was coming. He felt the one who was closest to him gear up for another shoe-meets-face maneuver.

  
But it just didn't come.

  
Because everything stopped. The sounds, the thrashing in his direction, the feeling of anyone else around.  
It all stopped.  
  
So he was dead.  
  
And at first... nothing but silence. As quiet as a crypt. It pushed itself into the fading consciousness Sam had fashioned as a cradle around his numbing body and blanketed the whole of his surroundings. It was eerie, foreboding and indifferent. Unlike any other quiet to ever befall him. It nipped suspicious nerves to attentive action- ones he thought were long frayed off and out of commission.

And for just a brief, phantom of a second, Sam could swear he heard feathers.  
  
This wasn’t heaven. But Sam wanted to imagine that it was, pretend like his heart had finally struggled out its last shaky pump and, without his noticing, pushed his soul straight through the threshold of here and there and into the afterlife.  
  
But Sam knew better. He was numb and disoriented and halfway unconscious, but he wasn't stupid. Heaven didn't smell like asphalt. Heaven wouldn't taste like warm copper. This wasn't heaven, and he wasn't dead.  
  
So why had everything stopped?  
  
And Sam would have thought about it more, he really would have given it a good go for an explanation. But his concentration was suddenly shaken by the insane kind of chill that rushed onto him. It was so heavy, it should have been suffocating.

  
But it wasn't. Instead it was like the greatest breath of fresh air Sam had had in a long time. It stirred around his entire essence and brought feeling back to his limbs. And not the agonizing aching from before. No, it was just... peaceful. Like he was slowly waking from a long overdue sleep. Rejuvenated.  
  
And in the midst of this great waking, Sam felt the small twitch of a smile creep to his lips softly, and a pair of cool fingers settle on the center of his forehead.  
  
His eyes fluttered open.  
  
Blonde. Rather short really, in comparison. With eyes like the bottomless sky. Some figure Sam would swear he'd never seen in all his life. And he was just so close to Sam, with an expression of sympathy, and maybe a little bit of pity lost in there too.  
  
Sam opened his mouth to speak, but those same two fingers took one quick wave over his lips, and silence befell him.  
  
He looked at Sam, this stranger-savior guy. He looked straight into Sam's soul and found the only words that Sam wanted- needed to hear.  
  
  
"You have a purpose here, Sam.  
  
  
It can't be over for you yet."

  
  
End.


End file.
